


Tales from the Slippery Slopes Cantina

by tersa (alix)



Category: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Canonical Abuse, Dark, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Headcanon, Humor, M/M, Slash, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alix/pseuds/tersa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories inspired by  Bioware's "Star Wars: The Old Republic" MMOPRG. At this point, all of them involve in some capacity either my characters or the PCs my characters interact with and explore my headcanon.</p><p>Ranges the gamut of fluff to romance to darker themes and a variety of characters and pairings.</p><p>(Last updated: 30-Jan-2015<br/>Ch. 8 "Two Sides" - f!Jedi Knight, m!Sith Inquisitor / R / slice of life with a large dollop of angst<br/>Ch. 9 "Heir Apparent" - m!Sith Inquisitor/Andronikus / PG / slice of life, established relationship)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crowded House (m!Smuggler, f!Knight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hazard Pay Auxilary: a Miraluka f!Jedi Knight (Sollyni) hires a Mirialan m!Smuggler (Zeet) to transport her through the galaxy as their stories unfold, hilarity ensues.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: Mild Smuggler and Jedi Knight class story up through Balmorra
> 
> Characters: Corso Riggs, Zeet (m!Smuggler), Sollyni (f!Jedi Knight), Akaavi, Risha, Kira Carsen, Doc
> 
> Juggling warm bodies and disparate personalities on a ship growing ever more crowded can be difficult...or entertaining, and more difficult to keep a secret.

Corso stepped onto the ship feeling a bit of trepidation. Already crowded accommodations were going to get all that much more crowded, as that resistance medic, Doc, and Mandalorian, Akaavi, followed along after Captain Zeet and Jedi Sollyni and the Jedi’s T7 unit. There just wasn’t room for everyone, even if the Jedi was paying the captain a pretty credit to transport them all.

“Akaavi,” the captain was saying, “you can stay with Rish—“ He didn’t even get to finish, because Risha—Princess Risha? Queen Risha? Corso still wasn’t sure what to think of or call her—was glaring at Zeet after coolly apprising the zabrak mercenary. “Okay, maybe not. Doc…” His gaze moved over everyone gathering in the crowded corridor and trailed off in a rare loss for words.

“Kira can stay with me,” the Jedi spoke up. “So Akaavi can have her former quarters.”

“Thank you,” Akaavi said stiffly accompanied by a curt nod of her head.

“Doc,” Zeet said, recovering from one thorny trap, “you can bunk with Bowdaar or Corso.”

“With no offense meant to someone who could probably tear my arms off,” Doc said with a too sly grin at the wookie, “I think I’ll give him his space. Besides, I’m not sure I want to wake up covered in that kind of fur every morning.”

Zeet smirked, but Corso glowered. There was a casual smarminess about Doc he didn’t exactly trust. Reminded him a little of Skavak, or maybe Zeet, except he liked the captain. He also didn’t like the way Kira was eyeing Doc appreciatively while in conversations with Jedi Sollyni and Doc’s smile back at her, so Zeet’s next words upset him further. “Then I guess you’ll be sharing space with Corso.”

He tried to get Kira’s attention, but she seemed occupied by sizing Akaavi up warily while Sollyni took Kira’s elbow to guide her to her quarters. He’d enjoyed traveling with Kira, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the fact that she used to be Sith, but wasn’t anymore, and was now a full Jedi. When Zeet and Sollyni had chosen to take Risha and TeeSeven planetside on Balmorra, he’d been thrilled to spend time with Kira on board the ship. That was, until Zeet had sent Risha back and requested him, muttering some vague imprecations about “it’s not all about money”, a sentiment he heartily approved of and couldn’t understand what the issue was.

He couldn’t even say hi, now.

Corso led the way through the ship to where he slept, barely big enough for one, in his opinion, but there was a second bed that could be pulled down from the wall to bunk another. It made for cramped quarters, barely enough space to walk between them when they were both down and the only storage being under the beds. He was going to leave Doc to settling in, after indicating which bed was his, but Doc’s comment stopped him in his tracks. “She’s really beautiful, isn’t she?”

His back up, Corso said tersely, “Yeah, she is.”

“I bet she has some fire to go with that red hair,” Doc went on, as if not noticing Corso’s discomfort. “And a Jedi! I thought they were all stern and emotionless, like that Warren fellow. You know her better, is she like that?”

Corso thought of all the times he’d been around Kira, her anger over her former Master nearly being killed, nearly being trapped by the Sith Lord trying to drag her back to the Empire, that frightening confrontation on Darth Angral’s ship where she’d been possessed by the Emperor. Whether it was her ferocity in a fight or her quick wit talking to him, ‘emotionless’ didn’t even come close to describing her. But he wasn’t going to detail it to _him_. “No.”

Doc’s eyebrows went up, then he laughed. “Oh ho, you have an interest in her, don’t you?”

“No!” Corso denied quickly. “I mean, she’s pretty and nice and all, but she’s a Jedi. They’re not supposed to get mixed up with people like that.”

“They’re people, too, though, right? Well, if that’s how you feel, then that’s your right, and it means my path is clea—“

Corso’s hands balled into fists. “You leave Kira alone.”

“Kira—“

“Leave her alone,” Corso repeated, cutting anything that smooth-talking spice-salesman could say.

He nearly punched Doc when he began to laugh, but a small, rational part of his brain was afraid Zeet might…he didn’t know, throw him off the ship, although probably not, Zeet seemed to like him as much as he liked the captain, or maybe Jedi Sollyni would cause some sort of stink to make his life difficult, so he managed to refrain, glaring until Doc restrained his mirth. “I don’t even know Kira—that was Sollyni’s padawan, right? I was speaking of Sollyni. Quite a woman.”

Astonishment warred with relief at the sudden release in tension in Corso’s chest. “I…guess so,” he stammered. “She’s a Jedi, I hadn’t ever really thought of it.”

Grinning, Doc clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Continue not to think about it.” And started whistling as he put his things away.

Still dazed, Corso thought that life aboard the ship had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.


	2. Betrayal (m!Smuggler, f!Jedi Knight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hazard Pay Auxilary: an f!Jedi Knight (Sollyni) hires an m!Smuggler (Zeet) to transport her through the galaxy as their stories unfold, hilarity ensues.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: Smuggler class story just prior to Corellia
> 
> Characters: Corso Riggs, Sergeant Rusk, Zeet (m!Smuggler), Risha
> 
> When the player gets played, it's up to his friends to help pick up the pieces.

Corso hunched over the work bench, ignoring the knots developing in his shoulders and the cramps in his fingers. It had been too long since he’d had time to tinker with his babies, putting parts together to construct a new blaster, and his muscles were reminding him of it. But it distracted him from thinking about what had happened on Tatooine. And there he was, thinking about it again. He grimaced and stuck his tongue out of a corner of his mouth, biting down on it just enough to feel the pinch of pain and furrowed his brow in concentration.

A deep male voice interrupted. “You should go to the cantina.”

He jumped, the tiny part clasped between the pliers bouncing off the table and down into the floor grid somewhere. His gaze swept up to find Rusk, _Sergeant_ Rusk, looming over him from the doorway. “Kinda busy right now,” Corso said in mild exasperation, climbing down off the stool in a futile search for the missing part.

“Your friend, the captain, is at the bar. I think you should go there before an incident occurs.”

*BANG* went Corso’s head on the underside of the table, causing everything atop it to bounce and jangle. He yelped. “Incident?”

“Just go there,” the Chagrian repeated, before turning and marching off.

Traversing the Corellian space port swiftly, Corso found the cantina and understood why Rusk had ordered him to come. The Captain was slumped onto the bar, barely propped up by an elbow, a near empty bottle of Corellian rum on the other side. The bartender was scowling at him but looked up as Corso entered, his expression turning disapproving when Corso approached Zeet. “Hey, boss. What’s happening?”

“Can’t believe she did that to me,” Zeet slurred grievously, accompanied by a roll of the eyes from the bartender.

“He’s been saying that non-stop for an hour. Can you get him out of here? He’s scaring off the rest of my customers.”

“I know, boss, but buying up the entire planet’s stock of rum isn’t going to make it any better.” Corso grabbed Zeet’s free arm and tugged gently, ducking his shoulder under it. “Let’s get you back to the ship.”

“They’re going to take it again,” Zeet mourned. “Stupid Skavak taking my ship. They’re going to take it from me.”

“No, they’re not,” Corso assured him, praying it was true. “You’ll figure out a way to clear your name and get out of this mess. You always do.”

“You can’t tell her,” Zeet said with sudden emphasis, turning his head to breathe noxious fumes across Corso’s face.

“Tell whom what, boss?”

“S’lyni. Can’t tell her about Dodonnanana.”

Corso tightened his grip on Zeet’s waist. “You know I won’t, boss.” The last thing any of them needed was the Supreme Commander of the Republic forces on Corellia to find out her hired transportation had been working for an Imperial spy for the last few months, even if it had been unwittingly. It had been fortuitous that she'd been called away to Hoth when Zeet needed to go to Tatooine.

“Can’t believe she used me like that,” Zeet mumbled once again as they neared the hangar where the shuttle they were staying in was parked.

“What happened to him?” a feminine voice asked.

Corso tore his attention from assuring himself Zeet was moving forward and not going to vomit up everything he drank to find Risha waiting just within the hangar. He had no clear idea what was going on between them, but concern cracked her polished, hard-bitten facade. “Just drank a little too much,” Corso said warily. He wasn’t sure how much Zeet had told her about what had happened on Tatooine.

She sighed. “Let’s get him to his cabin, then.”

Risha led the way, Corso dragging an increasingly dead weight Zeet beside him until they reached the small room that served as Zeet’s cabin. With relief, he poured Zeet onto the bunk, Risha stepping up as he moved away to put Zeet’s feet up on the mattress and began removing his boots. “I can take it from here,” she said to Corso, a dismissal if ever he heard one.

“He’ll be fine,” he said, half-assurance, half-protest.

“I’m sure he will be,” she said in her usual bemused, sensuous tone. “Then I can kill him.”

Corso wasn’t sure if she was serious or not, but when she settled down on the narrow wall seat preparing to wait Zeet’s unconsciousness out, he decided that was one part of the captain’s life he was going to stay out of.


	3. The Blind Leading the Blind (m!Sith Inquisitor, m!Sith Warrior)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Next Gen': The offspring of my Miraluka f!Jedi Knight (Sollyni) and my friend's Mirialan m!Smuggler are stolen by the Empire as children and raised Imperial. Ydris (m!Sith Inquisitor, the son of Sollyni and Doc) and Rohark (m!Sith Warrior, the son of Zeet and Risha) embark on their own, much darker adventures.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: Mild Sith Inquisitor, Sith Warrior story spoilers for the end of Korriban, spoilers for a Smuggler Companion story
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Canonical physical abuse
> 
> Characters: Ydris (m!Sith Inquisitor), Rohark (m!Sith Warrior), Vette
> 
> Ydris is a former slave; Rohark the pampered younger child of a Queen and his consort. When Darth Baras gifts Rohark with a twi'lek slave, the two once and future friends have an explosive conflict over it.

The walls of Tulak Hord’s tomb pressed down on Ydris. The ceilings were high and the walls wide, but he felt their weight still, given a gravity by the reputation of the man and millennia of drinking in the Dark Side, from apprentices to Sith Lords, inhabiting Korriban. Fear, oppression, it stoked the anger at his core, building with a pressure that needed outlet.

He heard it then. The _snap_ , the sizzle of a shock collar activating, and flinched—but no pain came. Instead, he heard the twi’lek Darth Baras had given to Rohark like a pet give a strangled grunt, another sound that cut deep into his heart with the familiarity. She would not scream, either.

“Stop,” Ydris said with low savagery.

The electric crackle cut off with Rohark looking at him in mild surprise. “Why? She needed to be reminded of her place.”

Ydris felt the anger flare, embracing the rage that seethed through his veins. “And what place is that?”

“She’s a slave.”

He wanted to strike Rohark and his entitled tone of voice right off the planet. Three words, and Ydris heard everything Rohark had had throughout his easy life, how he _didn’t understand_ what it was like to be anything than what he was: the spoiled, precious princeling. “Do you know how it feels like?” he asked in a dangerously soft voice.

Rohark sniffed. “No, of course—“

With a thought, Ydris gathered control of the Force and lashed out a hand, energy leaping from his fingertips to lance through the air and wreathe Rohark, caressing him more intimately than a lover. A barking yelp of surprise and a shriek of agony echoed off the malevolent walls, music to Ydris’s ears, as he watched with fascination the coruscating energy writhing across the slightly different swirls of Rohark’s life force.

A slender hand clutched at his forearm, tugging on it hard, and a female voice cried out, “Stop it!”

For a brief moment, he wanted to direct the blaze at her, before he regained control of himself. She was why he’d administered this lesson.

The gathering of Force warned him, but without enough time to do anything but prepare himself for the blast that knocked him off his feet, hitting the ground with a _*thud*_. A second surge, and weight crashed on his chest, Rohark’s weight, pinning him to the floor. The practice sword was cocked, prepared to crash down on his head, and rage poured out of Rohark as surely as it did Ydris.

“ _Don’t_ do that again, or I will kill you.”

Acid rose up on Ydris’s tongue. “Hurts, doesn’t it.” His lip curled into a sneer. “Your threats are empty. I have had more pain heaped on me than you can ever imagine, for thousands of days. You so casually hurt her, and you don’t even know what it’s like.” Sensing Rohark’s shock, Ydris took advantage of the weakness to shove the Mirialan off, enough to lever himself up to a seat. Accustomed to pain or no, he felt the injuries from Rohark’s Force-driven leap and would need to heal himself before he proceeded deeper into the tomb, to his task.

“I’m sorry.”

Surprise brought Ydris’s head around to face Rohark. He wondered if he’d revealed too much, what weakness Rohark might be trying to exploit, and mentally scrambled to armor himself, snapping, “Don’t be.” He sensed no duplicity in Rohark, though, and cautiously, for the childhood friendship they once shared, added, “Just don’t do it again.”

“She’s just a slave,” Rohark said, confusion in his voice.

Ydris’s mouth thinned to a warning smirk. “So was I, once. And you know what I once was, and what I am now.” Climbing to his feet, he twitched his clothes back into place. He would not be mistaken for anything less than what he was: a free man and a Sith. The sense coming off Rohark was that he was thinking, which Ydris approved of. It was better than the alternatives. “Are you ready to proceed?”


	4. Two Roads, One Path (m!Sith Inquisitor, m!Sith Warrior)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Next Gen': The offspring of my Miraluka f!Jedi Knight (Sollyni) and my friend's Mirialan m!Smuggler (Zeet) are stolen by the Empire as children and raised Imperial. Ydris (m!Sith Inquisitor, the son of Sollyni and Doc) and Rohark (m!Sith Warrior, the son of Zeet and Risha) travel together to embark on their own, much darker adventures.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: Sith Inquisitor class story through the end of Chapter 2, Sith Warrior class story in the beginning of Chapter 3
> 
> Characters: Ydris (m!Sith Inquisitor), Rohark (m!Sith Warrior), Ashara Zavros, Malavai Quinn  
> Suggestions of previous Ydris/Malavai
> 
> After Darth Baras unsuccessfully attempts to terminate his relationship with his former apprentice in permanent fashion, Ydris is the best friend he can be to console Rohark...which is not all that good. He's Sith, after all.

Ydris woke to feel Rohark’s anger blanketing him as much as the piece of wool cloth protecting him from the chill of the ship’s air--an anger he felt relieved to sense. Struggling to rise, he was thwarted by hands--Ashara’s hands--pressed against his chest and shoulder. “You shouldn’t be getting up.”

Her touch was gentle, but irritated him. “I will get up if I want to.”

She protested. “Your illness--“

“I’m fine,” Ydris lied. The ghosts were talking to him, to each other, but he gathered his will and shoved them into a corner of his mind and built a wall of Force that hushed them to a droning murmur. It wouldn’t hold them long, but he hoped long enough. Under the anger, he felt hurt, and it drew him out of bed, pulling a robe over his shirt and leaving Ashara to radiate disapproval.

Hang her disapproval.

He followed the waves of emotion to their source in the armory, heard the zinging hiss of a light saber and Rohark’s heavy breathing as he practiced, sensed the training droid whispering through the dry air and Malavai at the work bench, presumably caring for the blaster weapons. Ydris paused to lean in the doorway, presenting a picture of bored interest, but partially because the illness the ghosts claimed came from Force Walking left him weaker than he would ever admit.

With a sudden growl, the light saber sheared through the droid, the smell of ozone and burning plastic following in the wake of the crackling show of sparks. With a snapping buzz, Rohark turned off the saber, clipped it to his belt, and turned his back on the doorway to peel off his gloves.

Ydris’s eyebrows climbed momentarily. It was unlike Rohark to hold his tongue, forcing him to ask, “How was Quesh?”

The gloves smacked against the table where they were dropped. “Baras tried to kill me.”

 _There_ was the source of the rage, the emotion buffetting Ydris’s fragile psyche and threatening to tear down the dearly constructed wall. He tamped down his Force sight against the onslaught, turning Malavai’s tightly controlled presence into something barely palpable. “Leave us,” he ordered.

There was a long pause, Ydris only catching Rohark’s fresh irritation before Malavai said in precise tones, “I’ll be on the bridge if you need me, my lord.”

He swept past Ydris in a cloud of aftershave and clean masculinity that brought back pleasant memories dampened by Rohark’s peevish, “He is not yours to order about.”

“He was at one time,” Ydris said with dry humor. “Several times.”

“That is _not_ what I meant!”

“He did not need to be here for this conversation.”

“Why not? Baras tried to kill him, too.”

“He is not Sith.”

With a noise of disgust, Rohark began pacing. “Why would he try to kill me? I’ve done everything he’s ever asked of me. I destroyed Nomen Karr, I stole Karr’s padawan and made her Sith, I executed the Republic leaders and helped bring about the war. I’ve done great things, I could still help him!”

A corner of Ydris’s mouth turned up in bemusement. “Did you learn _nothing_ from what happened with me and Zash? With Darth Thanaton?”

“That’s different!” Rohark exploded. “I’m a Prince of Dubrillon! They need me!”

Ydris laughed.

“Stop it,” Rohark snarled, his rage building and turning on Ydris.

“No,” Ydris said, but his chuckles subsided. “I laugh at your naivete. We’re Sith. They want us to be great, but only as long as we’re useful to them. When we become a threat, we’re expendable.” Pushing himself out of his nonchalant lean was harder than it should have been, and it took effort to cross the floor to seat himself against the work bench, near where Rohark paced. “Do you know why Baras considers you a threat to his power?”

Rohark’s response was clipped. “No. Only that I am.”

“You’re strong in the Force,” Ydris noted musingly. “You’ve defeated his enemies—powerful enemies. Why did he not do this? Perhaps he is weaker than he seems.”

There was another stretch of silence that Ydris, normally not the most patient of people, waited out, shoring up his defenses against the ghosts. Until Rohark spoke, jarring him out of his inward focus. “Perhaps you are right.”

“If you _are_ a Prince of Dubrillon and expect to wrest the throne away from your brother—sister—whoever stands to inherit at this point—you need to stand on your own. You’ve been Baras’s trained Akk dog for too long.”

“There’s still the Emperor.”

Ydris sniffed. “When the Emperor himself puts a leash around my neck, and I’d like to see him _try_ , _then_ I’ll bow to it. You should do the same.”

“I’m not you.”

A feral smile turned up the corners of Ydris’s mouth, the ghosts bursting through their restraints to flood his veins with their power. “No. You’re not.”


	5. Nadir (f!Jedi Knight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hazard Pay Auxilary: a Miraluka f!Jedi Knight (Sollyni) hires a Mirialan m!Smuggler (Zeet) to transport her through the galaxy as their stories unfold, hilarity ensues.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: Set post-game, some Jedi Knight, Smuggler Companion reveals
> 
> Characters: Sollyni (f!Jedi Knight), Doc, Guss Tano, C2-N2, Jynn (future f!Smuggler), references to Ydris (future m!Sith Inquisitor)
> 
> Sollyni breaks the news of Ydris's kidnapping to Doc and Jynn in their home on Balmorra. One part "what happened later to Doc and Sollyni" and one part "and this is where Jynn and Ydris came from".

_There is no emotion, there is peace._ The one line of the Jedi Code repeated itself in Sollyni’s head, pounding at her skull in time with her pulse. She was Jedi, and she would not give in to the anger seething beneath her serene veneer.

She stepped into the house on Balmorra and inhaled deeply, the ritual bringing her a measure of control. She smelled the lingering odors of lunch and the meals before and felt that Doc had re-arranged the furniture of the common room since last she’d been here. How long had it been? Not recently enough, she immediately thought with grieving regret, setting the litany off again.

“Master Sollyni!” the fussy C2-N2 protocol droid exclaimed as it shuffled in. “Welcome home, master, I had no idea you were to arrive. I would have prepared.”

“That’s okay, Ceetoo. Where’s Doc?”

“Master Kimble is in his infirmary. Shall I tell him you’ve arrived?”

“No. I’ll see him myself.”

She went the long way, around the structure to the door of the infirmary he’d built attached to the house, where Guss coughed nervously as she entered. “Jedi,” he gabbled. “what are you doing here?”

Her jaw clenched to bite back her initial response. “I came to see my husband,” she said instead, anger bleeding through the clipped syllables. “Is he in his office?”

“He’s with a patient,” Guss said, then demonstrating some level of awareness, asked, “Is something wrong?”

She sidestepped the question with one of her own. “Can you let him know I’m waiting for him in his office when he’s done?”

“Yes, of course, immediately.”

Several ticks passed on the chronometer before the door of Doc’s office clicked open to admit him, and Sollyni, seated cross-legged on the floor meditating, was feeling considerably calmer and sensed his approach before the sound warned her. “Sollyni, this was unexpected.”

There was a time when his voice saying her name sent thrills through her. She felt sadness hearing it, remembering a time when all he called her was ‘gorgeous’ and ‘beautiful’. When was the last time he’d done that? She pushed herself to her feet, still graceful after all these years, saying, “It was better to simply come myself.”

His step stuttered on the way to her, dragging to a halt. “Why? What is it?”

She turned to face him, the reflex born of decades of dealing with sighted people. “Ydris has been taken.”

“ _What_?”

She told him in short, succinct sentences what happened, how the ship he’d been on had dropped out of communication, how, weeks later, parts from it had turned up in the markets of Tatooine and Nar Shadaa. At first, they’d thought it was perhaps pirates, but some sour note had made Master Satele question that explanation, and they were now convinced of Imperial involvement, but not with the proof needed to charge them of the crime. As she laid out the known facts, she sensed Doc’s growing disbelief, hurt, worry, and above all, anger, and tried to shut it out. _There is no passion, there is serenity._

“This happened months ago, and you’re just _now_ getting around to telling me?” he exploded.

“There was nothing you could do,” she explained. “The loss of a shuttle of younglings is a very serious offense, and we had a large team of Jedis working to find them.”

“And did you?”

The sharpness of his voice cut through her control. She slumped to a seat leaning against his desk, fingers curling under the edge. “No. For all intents, it’s gone. I know he’s still alive, scared, angry, and in pain, but I can’t pinpoint where he is.”

“You should have told me,” he said, accusation heavy in his tone.

“I didn’t want to worry you until I had something concrete.”

“Dammit, he’s my _son_!”

“ _Our_ son,” she corrected him, whipcrack, but then softened. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“ _My_ son,” he retorted stubbornly, his rage buffeting her so that she pulled back her senses to shy away from the onslaught. “I was there every day for him, until the moment the Jedis took him away to go to Tython. The moment he’s taken away, he’s kidnapped?”

“It’s not the Jedis’ fault,” Sollyni snapped, her own temper starting to fray. “The Jedis on that shuttle are gone, probably dead in defending the children.”

“He wouldn’t have been in such danger if he hadn’t been taken away.”

“You know it had to be done,” she replied, exasperated. “He’s always been stronger in the Force than Jynn, so much stronger. He needed to be trained.”

“ _You_ could have trained him!”

“I’m his mother,” she said, voice softening once more. Ydris’s absence was like a hole in her chest that could not be filled, one that allowed her formidable strength to bleed from her, making her feel…ordinary. “It’s not acceptable for me to train my own son, you know that.”

“Then why not Kira?”

His voice was brittle, and she knew he was grasping at straws. She shook her head. “Taking on a padawan is a calling, and the Force didn’t speak to Kira to train Ydris. Doc, love, what’s done is done, there’s nothing we can do to change the past.”

“What else is there to do?” he asked bitterly. “You can’t find him. We can’t just _sit_ here and do nothing, though.”

“Papa? Mama?” the little girl’s voice intruded.

Sollyni found her feet in a surge of energy, mentally berating herself. She hadn’t realized she’d pulled back so far that she wouldn’t even sense Jynn’s approach, but extending them through the black storm of Doc’s emotions she felt her daughter in the open doorway of the office, fingers clutching the frame.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s okay, Jynn-Jynn,” Doc said, his voice was tight with the lie.

Sollyni made to crouch down to Jynn’s level, then arrested the motion upon realizing Jynn would tower over her then. When had that happened? Internally, she sighed, berating herself for how long it had been since she’d been home, letting her duties as a Jedi get in the way. Making a mental note to become better at that, she beckoned her daughter forward. “There’s been an accident. Your brother’s ship to Tython was attacked.”

Doc’s anger hit her, tinged with disgust, knowing from the feel of it that words would be had later. Words she probably wouldn’t like. _When have I, lately?_ she thought with wistful disappointment. Sollyni wondered how much of it Jynn picked up on. She had no idea how far Jynn’s sensitivity extended to, more able to relate to Ydris’s perceptions. Her heart clutched with worry over her youngest, but her eldest’s voice brought her back to the here. “Is he okay?”

“He’s alive,” Sollyni replied truthfully. Nestled in the back of her head was her awareness of him, a slender, elastic tether that bound her powerfully Force gifted son to her. Frustration bubbled up in her to be tamped down again. _There is no chaos, there is harmony._ She added aloud, “The Jedi Council is doing everything in its power to find him and the other padawans.”

“Can I help?”

Panic from Doc. Sollyni frowned at him, knowing Jynn would probably sense the sentiment, but it couldn’t be helped. “No, we’re taking this very seriously. No padawans are assisting us.”

“I’m not a padawan.”

The clear logic of the statement took Sollyni by surprise, vindictive amusement from Doc. A corner of Sollyni’s mouth pulled in with her irritation at it. “No, you’re not. But if you were a Jedi, you would be, still. What I need you to do, Jynn-Jynn, is be here and take care of your father until we can find him.”

A burst of rebellion from her, then she said, “No one calls me that anymore. It’s just Jynn.” _But_ he _just did…_ Sollyni was about to protest when she felt the smug satisfaction from Doc and clamped her teeth around it.

He was moving across the floor to gather Jynn in his arms, the girl clinging to his chest. “I know you’re scared,” he said to her. “I am, too. But your mother and the Jedi are the best bets to find him. Okay?”

A sniffle out of Jynn, who said a muffled, “Okay.”

He held her for a long time, Sollyni poised uncomfortably waiting, not wanting to interrupt her daughter seeking comfort but smarting that she was excluded from it. She tried to calm herself using Jedi meditation techniques, but her emotions kept intruding.

Eventually, Jynn’s grip loosened, and she pulled away from Doc. “Can I be excused?”

“Of course,” he said with a tenderness Sollyni hadn’t heard in some time, and it left her aching. He kissed the top of Jynn’s head. “I’ll come in later to help you with your homework.”

Awkward silence fell after Jynn left, broken by Sollyni giving voice to her hurt. “What happened to us, Doc?”

“You weren’t here,” he said, bitterness and weariness lacing his tone in equal measure. “Look, I can’t talk to you right now, not without saying something I’ll probably regret. I have some more patients that can’t wait. How long will you be here for?”

Sollyni winced at the sharpness in his voice that cut at her heart, followed by guilt. “Only until tomorrow. I wanted to tell you in person, but I need to get back out there and find him.”

“Of course,” he said flatly. “I guess we’ll have to talk tonight, if there’s time.”

He left the house trailing a miasma of dark emotions. The mantra started in her head once again, _There is no emotion--_ but a familiar, more insidious voice welled up to cut it off. _Peace is a lie._


	6. Finally (f!Jedi Consular)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for my Mirialan f!Jedi Consular (Aseryl)--headcanon has her as the cousin of my friend's m!Smuggler (Zeet, mentioned in other stories in this series).
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: References to the end-of-romance mail received from the f!Consular LI
> 
> Characters: Aseryl (f!Jedi Consular), Felix Iresso
> 
> Written to address the end of a Romance conversation chain that terminated with my character prevaricating about marriage...and then never getting an opportunity to make a final decision.
> 
> Scene inspiration owes a great deal to the 'Babylon 5' S1 episode, "Midnight on the Firing Line".

Names rolled across the blackened screen to the accompaniment of stirring, martial music. Felix reached over to bring the room’s lights up to an intimate dimness, the arm draped across Aseryl’s shoulders shifting pleasantly as he did so. His voice was low and, as usual, made her pulse jump along with flutters throughout her body. “So, what do you think?”

“This food,” she said, turning a piece of the salty snack over between her fingertips. “It’s interesting. It’s difficult not to overindulge in it.”

He chuckled, the sound rich in her ears. “I’m glad you like it. Food was hard to come by back in the refugee camps, but this puffed local grain was a popular way to serve what we did have. It’s just not the same watching a vid without it. But that’s not what I meant. What did you think of the movie?”

“It seemed an unrealistic depiction of what war is,” she answered, considering what she’d seen. “It was missing the cost of it in sentient life. And that wounded man,” she made a face. “He would’ve died without a medic or healer’s help. He shouldn’t have been doing all those things.”

Felix’s smile widened, but he shook his head. “This isn’t a history, it’s fiction. Entertainment. Things aren’t going to be completely accurate.”

“And you like it anyway?” she asked him, mildly perplexed.

“Well, yeah,” he admitted. “I told you why. I know now firsthand that it’s glossing over all the bad parts about war, but there’s so much of the good parts there. The camradrie. Being heroes. Protecting people.” At those last words, his hand on her shoulder brushed against it, and she felt herself being pulled just that much closer to his warm body. “As a Jedi, you can believe in that, can’t you?”

She could sense how much he wanted her approval in this and quickly re-examined her opinions. It was hard for her to disassociate her training from simply _enjoying_ something as the ‘entertainment’ he called it, but she recalled back to the beginning of the film, skimming through it quickly from memory in an attempt to view it more from his perspective, and conceded, “It does have its positive points, and I can see why you like it.”

“But you don’t?” he said quickly. She noted perhaps a little _too_ quickly

“I liked it,” she assured him, then added, “I liked you sharing it with me. Thank you.”

She could tell he wasn’t certain how to take the conditional, and the moment when he decided to accept it. He smiled. “You’re welcome. It makes me happy to share it with you.”

“I know.” She paused, or maybe hesitated, then put the bowl of snacks onto a table next to her to free her hands to fold into her lap. “I’ve finished thinking it over. My answer is yes.”

“Yes?” he echoed, at first in bewilderment, but then his expression shifted in a split second at the moment of enlightenment to one of joy, quickly tempered when she asked, “You mean you’ll marry me?”

She smiled, infected by his mood. “Yes. I’m sorry it took so long—”

Fingertips on her lips cut off her words. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes, I do,” she said after removing his hand, but kept a gentle hold on it to drop back to her lap. “Not apologize, but explain. The Force guides me. You know that. But I also must answer to the Council, and it is a major breech of tradition and our rules for a Jedi to marry, to have that level of attachments, especially a member of the Council. I’m supposed to be an example.”

His brow furrowed. “But you’re going to anyway…”

Her thumb swept across the back of his hand, to soothe his concerns along with her words. “The fact that Master Kaeden questioned you so closely about us but gave no censure made me realize that they will not forbid it. The knowledge the Sith embedded in your mind should be protected,” she said, reaching up to rest her palm against his cheek, brushing her thumb now across his wrinkled brow, and added, “Both the datacron _and_ you. And I love you, and I know you love me. It is an entanglement I believe is acceptable.”

He smiled wryly and said with a chuckle, “’An acceptable entanglement’. Not how I ever expected my eventual marriage proposal would be called, but I suppose I should get used to the idea that what we have is never going to be what I expected.” He leaned in to kiss her, a chaste yet lingering kiss that sent illicit thrills all the way to her toes. “Also not sure what I think about the idea that you’re marrying me to protect me.”

She met his eyes with her own. “Can’t it be just one of the reasons? Is it wrong that I want to protect you because I care for you?”

“No, of course not. Ahh,” he sighed. “you’re right. Because I want to protect you, too.”

She kissed him, because she wanted to and could. “When?”

“Can we get married?” he asked, wonder creeping into his expression. “I don’t know. I mean…okay, the Jedis probably don’t have traditions regarding it, and if you just anyone, we could find a protocol droid to do it. But I want to do this right. Proper. What about your people, do you have any customs about it?”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a bemused grin. “Hundreds. My family will have to be notified. We’ll need to have new tattoos done signifying the joining. It could take _months_.” When he blanched, she chuckled. “You said you wanted to do it right.”

“I did! I do.” He lifted his hand from resting on her leg to rub the back of his neck. “I just didn’t realize it would take so long.”

“I can wait,” she assured him in a soft voice. “We have the rest of our lives.”

“Mmmmm. I like the sound of that.”


	7. To the Victor (m!Sith Inquisitor/Andronikus Revel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next Gen: Childhood friends Ydris (a Miraluka m!Inquisitor) and Rohark (a Mirialan m!Warrior) are reunited as adults at the Sith Academy on Korriban, and they conquer the galaxy together (on the same ship) much as their parents once did for the Republic.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: Sith Inquisitor class story up through the end
> 
> Pairing: Ydris (m!Inquisitor)/Andronikus Revel
> 
> Slice of life in the denouement of the Sith Inquisitor class story, Ydris is weirded out by having his own ship for the first time, and in his own, perverse way seeks out Andronikus for comfort and to clear up the status of their relationship.
> 
> Headcanon is that these two have been boffing like bunnies since midway through Alderaan, without all that 'love' nonsense being talked about.

With rank came privileges, and for the latest member of the Dark Council, that meant a ship of Ydris’s own. An identical model to the one Darth Baras had given to Rohark so long ago, it nonetheless had a different feel to his Force sense. A different rhythm to the pulse of the engines, a different scent in the air, lacking those echoes of experiences imbued into the very walls from months traveling together across the galaxy.

He missed it.

By habit, he made his way to the cockpit, unsurprised to find Andronikus in the pilot’s seat, fingers moving with confident economy across the controls. There was a pause and a shift in Andronikus’s attention, presumably becoming aware of Ydris’s entrance, but then went back to monitoring the readouts. “She’s a good ship,” he said without preamble. “Has her quirks, but then again, what woman doesn’t?”

Ydris stopped next to the captain’s chair, a hand resting on the back of it. How many times had they enacted this scene before, when Andronikus had spelled Captain Quinn? He was deprived the spectacular vista others reported could be seen through the viewing panels, but being there, sensing Andronikus’s pleasure in it, was enjoyment enough. In response to the idle question, Ydris said, “I wouldn’t know.”

The reply seemed to take Andronikus aback, if the surprise coming off him was any indication, as well as the heartbeat pause before saying, “My apologies if I misspoke, my lord.”

Laughter bubbled up and burst from Ydris’s lips, and he sensed wry amusement from Andronikus in return. “You’re not going to continue with that, are you?”

Andronikus’s “With what, my lord?” was delivered with the same careful precision.

“That. How long have we traveled together? How much have we shared?”

“A lot,” Andronikus said, tone thawing at the admission. “But that was before.”

“Before what?” Ydris echoed, mild confusion furrowing his brow.

“Before you were named Darth Nox”

The trepidation rolling off Andronikus conveyed more, Ydris feeling the unspoken _And you’re Sith_. He remembered Tatooine, when Andronikus proposed he travel with him, Ydris zapping him with Force lightning, and Andronikus’s fury—but, no, not just the fury, but what he’d said. _I saw what you Sith did to them_ , the others in prison with him. Wariness. He felt that...and it hurt. “Have I given you cause to fear me since you joined the crew?”

“Well…no,” Andronikus admitted.

“Do you think I lie?”

“All the time,” came Andronikus’s prompt reply.

Ydris felt the teasing undercurrent and smiled. “Do you think I lie to you?”

There was a longer delay before Andronikus answered uneasily. “I don’t know. Maybe, but if you do, I haven’t caught you at it.”

That hurt a little more, but Ydris shoved it aside. As important as it had been for him to annihilate Darth Thanaton, he found it suddenly as imperative that he allay Andronikus’s concerns. “I don’t. If there is one person on this ship I don’t lie to, it’s you.”

Silence fell awkwardly over the cockpit, Andronikus sinking deeper into the padded chair, a tightly bound whirlwind of feelings. Fear and hope and even lust tangled together with other, quicksilver feelings too swift for Ydris to identify much less interpret, an intoxicating blend that Ydris grew drunk off as he skimmed the stormy surface. His pulse quickened, desire flaring up as he absorbed the strong emotions. He held himself in check by an act of will—denial heightened the anticipation as did the physical ache—and waited to see how Andronikus would respond.

Leather creaked as Andronikus shifted his weight. “You know? I believe you.”

Exultation and relief swept through Ydris, his arousal nearing the cusp of pain . “Come to my quarters.”

Andronikus chuckled, the sound eroding Ydris’s self-control. “Is that an order?”

Sarcasm might be his usual rejoinder, but in this, Ydris felt compelled to blunt honesty. “No. I agreed I wouldn’t do that, remember?”

“Yeah, you did,” Androikus said musingly. “I’m tempted to say no, just to see what you’d do but…” He rose from the seat. “Why would I want to do that?”

“One thing,” Ydris murmured at the acquiescence, for Andronikus’s ears alone, reaching out to gather him about the waist and pull him against Ydris’s body. His senses exploded at the contact and warmth as Andronikus mirrored the gesture and entwined. “Never bow to me again.” At Andronikus’s burst of amusement, he added in pique, “Contrary to opinion, I do not like seeing you debase yourself.”

“Oh, you do,” Andronikus countered, “just maybe not in public.”

Ydris groaned and said impatiently, “Quarters.”

With a squeeze, Andronikus released him with a husky echo. “Quarters.”


	8. Two Sides (f!Jedi Knight, m!Sith Inquisitor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Sollyni (f!Jedi Guardian), Ydris (m!Sith Sorceror)  
> Pairings: Previous Sollyni/Doc, Ydris/Andronikus  
> Rating: R, for some very brief sexual description at the end
> 
> Written in response to the first half of the "Forged Alliances, Part 1" storyline--while the Republic invades Korriban, the Empire hits Tython, and two people, mother and son, have two very different experiences stepping foot in the other's demesnes.
> 
> I like to imagine Sollyni and Ydris's post class story stories run in parallel timelines, thirty or so years after the end of the events of the Jedi Knight story.
> 
> These are the same characters mentioned in previous chapters (most notably "[Nadir](http://archiveofourown.org/works/586173/chapters/1053457)", to grok this one).

Sollyni stepped off the shuttle onto Korriban, a complicated tangle of regret and guilt welling up and lodging in her throat before she cleared it. The knot subsided to its usual place deep in her chest but throbbed dully, not quite locked away. The Sith homeworld wasn’t the first planet of the Imperial core worlds she’d invaded, but this one was more… _profound_. Here, she could almost feel the feather-light remnants of her son’s presence, this place he would undoubtedly have been brought to be taught. He wasn’t there now, the Force bond she shared with him told her, somewhere else in the galaxy, too far away to pinpoint, but the emotion roiling through the link made her want to wash her mouth out, the acridity threatening to gag her.

Like so many times before, she shoved thoughts of Ydris away for her duty as a Jedi, the simple purity in the arc of her lightsaber, riding the whorls and eddies of Force as she struck down the defenders at the vanguard of the invasion.

When it was over, she let the emotions bubble up once more, old grief turning her melancholy. She missed Doc. If anyone could understand how she felt, it would be him, and she wanted to share that with him and find solace together, but they hadn’t spoken in cycles, not since Jynn had run off to become a smuggler.

A second awareness impinged on the inward facing thoughts, and she startled. “Where’s Scourge?” she asked Kira as she climbed the stairs towards the cockpit of the old Defender.

“Gone. He said he couldn’t condone being part of attacking the Empire and left the ship.”

Sollyni frowned, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. “Is he coming back?”

“No idea.”

Doc, then Rusk, and now Scourge. The group she’d welded together to face the Emperor was slowly disintegrating, and it made her sad.

“Incoming transmission from the fleet,” Kira said, interrupting her thoughts. And as if Sollyni couldn’t already tell from her tone, added, “It’s marked urgent.”

Sighing, Sollyni squared her shoulders. _Back to business._. “Put it through.”

* * *

Twenty years later, Ydris completed his journey to Tython when he stepped off the Imperial shuttle. A mirthless laugh escaped him.

He tasted ash on his tongue, bitter and poisonous, not just from the destruction he sensed around him. Rage seethed through him, two decades of dark emotions stoked to murderous pitch and restrained only by the fragile veneer of his training. That control threatened to be overwhelmed by the intensity of what he felt coming here-- _here_ of all places. Not as Jedi padawan but as a Sith Lord of the Dark Council, Darth Nox, not to learn but to destroy. Anticipation unfurled in him, and he smiled.

Beside him, Rohark was a complicated if lesser tangle of emotion. “Who would have thought we’d be here someday?” he mused, still the more in control of the two. “Is she here?”

Ydris didn’t have to ask who he meant. The awareness of his mother festered in a dark recess of his mind, one he sometimes wanted to claw out with his bare hands to make it go away. “No,” he answered tersely. He’d felt her proximity on Makeb, on Oricon, but not here. She was at a distance, too far away to save her precious Jedi planet. Acid welled up. He _wished_ she’d been here, so she could see the man, the _Sith_ he’d become thanks to her before he cut her down.

At least that’s what he thought he wanted.

He sensed Rohark’s curious sympathy reaching out to him and ignored it. “I’ve waited a long time to do this,” he rasped. “Let’s go kill Jedi.”

It was easy, so _easy_ , carving a path through the Republic defenders, to succumb to the hatred, to find euphoria from the lightning streaming from his fingertips, to feel the pain and hear the shrieks as it caressed them, penetrated, danced along nerves and skin until they were a smoking, charred corpse. Jedi after Jedi fell to his wrath, and he wrapped himself in the carnage like the warmest of blankets.

Later, back on the ship, he only dimly acknowledged Xalek and Khem Val before finding Andronikus on the bridge and falling onto him with a lust born from savagery. There was a moment of resistance from surprise, but Ydris, face buried in Andronikus’s neck, dropped a hand to cup Andronikus’s manhood and squeezed, grinding his own tumescence into Andronikus’s thigh with a groan, and he felt Andronikus respond with an answering grunt, his body curving into Ydris’s involuntarily. It was all Ydris could do not to take him right there in the cockpit, allowing Andronikus to lead him to his bedroom before tearing at the pirate’s clothes without even bothering with his own.

That night, passed out, Andronikus a protective presence at his back, Ydris slept for the first time since leaving Balmorra without nightmares.


	9. Heir Apparent (m!Sith Inquisitor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: m!Sith Sorceror (Ydris)/Andronikus  
> Rating: PG
> 
> When Ydris suddenly decides he needs an heir, the logistics of it are...complicated.
> 
> A short little vignette I wrote to explain how it was Ydris would wind up with a Twi'lek Marauder for a son. :)

Ydris’s announcement came like most of his did, without preamble. “I need to have a child.”

“What makes you say that?” Andronikus’s question stung. The pirate had done a decent job of stripping color from his tone, making them sound neutral, but Ydris felt the sharp tangle of emotions underlying them: a burst of anger, scorn, dismissal.

He bristled. “I need an heir.”

“That’s great, Sith, that’s really great.” Some of the feelings Ydris sensed began to bleed into Andronikus’s tone, the sarcasm unmistakable. “How you planning to make that happen?”

“The usual way,” Ydris replied in kind, his temper rising. He could control it when needed but here, in the privacy of his quarters, he felt no such need.

“How?” The one word crackled in the dry air. “With Ashara, who you can barely stand? Even if she wasn’t Togruta.”

Ydris felt jealousy and laughed mirthlessly. “Well, it won’t be with you.”

“Thank the stars,” Andronikus retorted with some fervency. At Ydris’s snarl, he said, “What. Even if you were a woman, I wouldn’t want to have children with you. You’d be a terrible parent.” Heat flushed Ydris’s cheeks at the rush of incandescent rage enkindled by Andronikus’s observation and he turned away, now fighting the lethal urge to attack Andronikus. Perhaps realizing how close to the line he walked, Andronikus added warily, “I only say it because it’s true. I think I know you better than anyone in the galaxy right now.”

“Get out,” Ydris growled through gritted teeth, and when Andronikus didn’t move as quickly as he wanted, whirled and launch a spear of lightning at a pad resting on a table next to the pirate. It exploded, shards of melted plastoid and fragments of diatium hurled through the air in a rapidly expanding cloud of debris. He felt the jolts of pain as some of them struck Andronikus, one chunk narrowly missing his eye, then a wordless snarl back from him. It hurried his steps, though, and Ydris seethed until the door shut behind Andronikus.

The words hurt. _Hurt_. Ydris took that pain and fed it into itself, squeezed it tighter and tighter until it became one with the white-hot core of pain that made him. He wasn’t one for self-reflection, but visualizing that core, he briefly caught a glimpse of himself there: the unhealed wounds of his childhood that defined him. The emotions that made him Sith.

It was a long time before he exited his room and went stiffly to the bridge, unsurprised to find Andronikus there. It vied for Andronikus’s favorite place on the ship, and Ydris felt the smoothing out of emotions that came with the ritual of piloting through sub-light. Anxiety blossomed when Ydris came near enough to be perceived by the senses of the Force blind and sighted, nectar that Ydris fed on and let it be a balm to his bruised heart.

“Do you have anyone in mind?”

The words were delivered with such tonal ennui, Ydris nearly barked a laugh. He felt the cost of the nonchalance, the bitterness it belied; Andronikus had to know he did, and yet played the game anyway.

It was part of why Ydris was so intoxicated by him.

Ydris went to the captain’s chair and put his hand along the back, to fingertips just brushing Andronikus’s shoulder. It was the closest thing to an apology Ydris could or would offer. Andronikus didn’t shy away—acceptance. “No. I just want it. Somehow.”

“You could do it another way.”

Something in what Ydris sensed piqued his interest. Hope wormed its way through the complicated mass of Andronikus’s emotions, thin and fragile. It was his turn to ask, “How?”

“You were a slave once.” Ydris stiffened, but Andronikus went on before he could formulate a response to interject. “They took you out of the slave pens to be trained as a Sith, and now look at you—on the Dark Council.” He paused, but his fingers kept moving across the controls, an effortless grace Ydris found calming. “Why don’t you do the same thing?”

A stab of anger, and Ydris’s grip on the chair back tightened. “I will not do that to another apprentice.”

“No, no,” Andronikus said hurriedly, half turning in the chair to look at Ydris. “That’s not what I meant at all.” He blew out an exasperated sigh and regrouped. “Save some kid from the life you went through. Stars, get his mother out too. You have more than enough credits and influence to set up a house somewhere. Adopt him. Give him a family and a real shot at life.”

With the Force, he might have crushed the back of the chair. He considered it. Instead, he made himself unclench his fingers. “Like Rohark.”

There was a long, uncertain pause as he could sense Andronikus weighing how to respond to that. “Yeah, like him.”

Ydris imagined it. Finding a promising child in the slave pens, doing exactly what Andronikus had described…he might be right about his ability to be a parent—the ship’s flutterplume was probably only alive right now because Drellik had taken an interest in it and had pulled a pistol on Khem the one time Khem had threatened to eat it. But if he saved one child from what he’d had to go through…again, the mental image of his inner self swam up, although this time, he saw the dim memory of his father, his laughing, kind, loving, teasing father who had never come to save _him_.

His fist clenched, and Ydris snarled silently, ending in a tense jawed gritting of teeth. He heard the creak of the seat as Andronikus shot him a sidelong look. “You okay, Sith?”

“Fine,” Ydris lied. “Set a course to Dromond Kaas. Let’s see if we can find ourselves a son.”


End file.
